Karl Quincy

Karl slipped into the hunting shop, his black pullover jacket misted with light rain. The temperature was chilly, hovering in the low 50s, and Karl always ran cold anyways. Nearly any weather besides typical "summer weather" was "jacket weather" to Karl. Sky blue eyes scanned the area for any indication of where he should be going, and then he saw it: a sign reading “Bait & Traps.” He hastily made his way to the aisle and hunted for live rat traps. Perhaps a fool’s errand; a hunter wouldn’t normally trap a live rat. But Karl wasn’t a hunter, and his knowledge of the hunt was limited to movies, books, and video games. Anxiously, he paced the aisle, still searching for something he could safely trap a hamster in and keep it alive.

Quentin Evenday

Across the way was another man, peppered hair slicked back into a ponytail, and arms crossed in front of his chest as he perused a section of hunting magazines. Steely-blue eyes switched briefly to Karl when the other began to pace anxiously. He then went back to looking over the magazines, though never once did he raise a hand to actually look at any of the material. He was content to ignore the other, but the faint, continued slap of wet shoes across the ground and the fellow's uncertainty managed to rile the elder man enough that he finally turned around. For a moment he watched Karl, thin brows sliding ever so subtly into a frown, "Rodent problems?" While his expression wasn't openly inviting, his voice did held a softer tone, pitched just enough to come across as friendly.